


The Hunt Of An Ex-Conman And FBI Agent

by Ashley5627



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Crossbows & Bolts, Forests, Gen, Hurt Neal, Hurt/Comfort, Leg Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashley5627/pseuds/Ashley5627
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal and Peter and running for their lives from hunters in a forest, only Neal can't do much running at the moment. Neal!Whump. Now Beta'd!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Aid

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank ItzAGoodThing for betaing my story! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own white collar.

"Do you think we lost them?" Peter asked as he peeked around the tree they were hiding behind.

"Hope so, though they don't have very good aim," Neal said, looking at the arrow that was sticking out of his thigh.

Peter looked back to Neal's strained face. " _Seriously?_ They hit you!"

"Yes, but I'm pretty sure they were aiming to kill," Neal said, tapping his head with a finger and smiling at Peter.

Peter just sighed. How they ended up running - or hiding as it may be - for their lives from a bunch of smugglers slash hunters in a forest way out of Neal's radius, he didn't know, but he knew they were in trouble.

He looked at the wound the arrow caused, seeing that it was bleeding slowly, but it would get worse once the arrow was pulled out. Peter unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops.

"Lift up your leg," Peter said and Neal lifted his left leg. "Your _other_ leg, smart ass."

Neal sighed and slowly bent his right leg by the knee, making him moan and wince. Peter wrapped the belt around Neal upper thigh and tightened it enough to slow the blood flow to the appendage, wincing along with Neal.

"Okay! Okay! I'll talk!" Neal shouted, attempting to lighten the mood.

Neal tried to joke, but Peter knew it would only get worse. He looked back at the arrow, then Neal's face. "You know we have to get that thing out, right?"

Neal looked at Peter with absolute horror and shook his head. "Uh, no. Not gonna happen; no way," Neal said defiantly.

"In an ideal situation, we'd just wait for an ambulance, but that's not an option. We need you mobile and you can't walk around like that."

"I don't think I could walk around if you pull it out, either," Neal argued.

"Well, we still need to get the arrow out if we have any hope of getting out of here."

"It's not an arrow," Neal said knowingly.

"Well if it's not an arrow, then what is it?" Peter asked with exasperation.

"It's a bolt. They're for crossbows. They're shorter."

"How do you even know that?" Peter asked, looking at the bolt, then back to Neal.

"One of my _friends_ may or may not have needed to know about that kind of thing to help him earn the respect of a client that liked to hunt. Allegedly."

"One of your _friends_? Right," Peter said then looked at Neal. "You're stalling," Peter accused and started to move closer to Neal.

"No, don't! I want to keep it!" Neal said, obviously lying, and put a hand around the bolt without touching it.

"No, you don't. Now hold still and lie down."

"How can I lie down if I'm holding still?"

"Neal..." Peter said in a threatening tone, done playing games.

"Ok, fine, but I'm not lying down," Neal said and resisted moving away when Peter moved closer.

Thinking of something, Peter picked up a stick and put it in Neal's hand. "Bite that."

"Ew, no," Neal said, then looked at the stick with concern. "Wait, why?"

Peter sighed and reluctantly said, "It'll help with the pain… and the noise."

"Oh," Neal said quietly and tried to brush off the dirt off the stick and put it in his mouth, clamping down on it anxiously.

Peter positioned himself on one side of Neal. He put a hand below the wound and the other held the bolt. "Ready?" Neal just shook his head in a negative, looking at Peter with fearful eyes.

Peter had to look away. "Sorry..." He muttered and pulled on the bolt.

Neal screamed, muffled by the stick he was biting down on and gripped the leaves and dirt on the ground with his hands. The pain was excruciating, going up and down his leg every time Peter pulled. He couldn't help but yell out every time the pain was too much, but stayed as still as he could.

After what felt like an eternity, the bolt came out. "Okay, I got it."

Neal took the stick out of his mouth with a shaky hand. He panted loudly as sweat rolled down the side of his handsome face. Just when Neal thought it was over, Peter pressed down on the wound to stem the bleeding. Neal let out a cry of pain and surprise and looked down at his thigh. It was bleeding a lot more than before, but Peter's hands - and what he realized was Peter's hat - seemed to be helping.

"Don't do that again," Neal said breathlessly.

"Well then, don't get shot next time," Peter shot back, nof looking up from his task.

"Duly noted," Neal murmured, paying only half attention. His eyes suddenly felt very heavy, but kept them open as much as he could. He looked at his leg again and had to look away. There was a lot of blood, a lot more than the last time he looked. "That's a lot of blood," he said thickly.

"Yeah, but it's slowing down," Peter said and repositioned himself again, pushing down even harder. Neal responded with a whimper and the world tilted sideways, then slowly went black.


	2. Which Way's West?

Peter wanted to start freaking out when Neal listed to the side and passed out, but he didn't. The wound had just about stopped bleeding and he checked Neal's pulse and breathing to make sure he was still alive. _'Neal's not dead, he just passed out,'_ Peter told himself. But he still looked really pale.

So, knowing Neal will live for the time being, he let him get what rest he could and kept watch for the men hunting them. There was no sign of them, but he wasn't going to let his guard down just yet.

About a half an hour later Neal started to stir, moaning as the pain registered. Peter moved over to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. The moment Peter's hand made contact with Neal he startled, gasped and tried to move away, but stopped with a yelp of pain. His eyes were darting around frantically, but he quickly calmed down when his eyes locked on Peter.

Neal let out the breath he was holding and said, "Oh right, the forest," as he let his head fall back to the ground and closed his eyes.

"Where did you think you were?"

"Paris."

"Oh. Well, welcome back," Peter said cheerfully.

Neal just moaned in response.

"I haven't seen any of them, so I think we lost 'em for now," Peter said as he continued to scan their surroundings.

"Good," Neal said. He opened his eyes and slowly sat up, moving to lean against the tree. He waited for the pain to die down, then dared to look at his leg. It had stopped bleeding, but he could see blood stains on his jeans (not his good suit pants, thank God). Peter's hat was on the wound, with Neal's scarf wrapped around the leg to keep the hat in place and Peter's belt was still around Neal's leg.

"We should loosen that. Wouldn't want your leg to fall off," Peter said, pointing at the belt.

"Not funny," Neal mumbled.

"Really? I thought it was."

Peter loosened the belt a little, and Neal could feel the blood rushing back to his leg. With the blood, the pain came as well. The pain pulsed with the beat of his heart - which was quite fast at the moment - and couldn't stop the groan that escaped.

"You alright?" Peter asked and Neal just looked at him. "Right, never mind."

After a few minutes the pain lowered to more manageable levels and Neal asked, "So, We got a plan?"

"Well, we can't just stay here. It's going to get dark in a few hours, and a lot colder." Right now it was about fifty degrees, so colder was not a good thing, especially since they really weren't dressed for much colder temperatures. Sweaters, light coats and jeans were okay for a few hours outdoors, but not a night under the stars. "And those guy's are probably still looking for us, so we need to get out of here."

"Do you know which way to go? Because I don't."

Peter didn't, not really. Well, accounting the position of the sun and time of day, he knew which way north was, but he didn't know which way civilization was. They were already somewhere in the forest when the smugglers started shooting at them, and then they were running for their lives and couldn't stop to look for landmarks.

So Peter thought the best way to find civilization was to go one direction. "We'll go west. It should be the fastest way to find civilization."

Neal just looked at him with confusion.

"That way," Peter said, pointing to Neal's right. "How do you know about crossbow bolts and not that?"

"It wasn't pertinent. I know which way is west in New York, not a forest," Neal said as he glowered at his surroundings as if it was to blame for their predicament.

After a moment of looking at Neal, at the tenseness of his face and the blood on his pants, Peter asked, "You think you can walk?" and waved a hand vaguely at Neal's leg.

Neal considered this for a moment, then said, "Yeah... With some help."

"Well, that's what I'm here for. That and arrow removal."

"Bolt. It's a bolt," Neal said, then looked at Peter's smirking face. "You did that on purpose."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Come on, let's go." Peter grabbed Neal's arm and put it over his shoulders, helping him up.

The whole way up Neal's eyes were pinched shut and tried his best to muffle a groan. He finally opened his eyes and turned to Peter, who still had his arm over his shoulders. He nodded to Peter, silently telling him he was ready.

And then they started their slow and painful walk toward what they hoped was civilization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me smile!


	3. I'm Thirsty

"Let's stop for a minute," Peter said, then helped Neal to a fallen tree to sit on. The whole time they were walking Neal had an arm around Peter's shoulder, helping him walk. And the longer they walked, the more Neal leaned on him. Peter didn't mind, but it worried him.

Now that Neal was sitting down, Peter could get another look at him. He did not look too good. He was sweating despite the chilly air, panting, and Peter could easily see the lines of pain on his face.

But the only complaint he's said was 'I'm thirsty'. And that was ten minutes ago.

"I'm thirsty." And now.

"Well, me too," Peter said and rubbed a hand down his face. "If we keep going that way-" he pointed to his left (west), "-we should run into a stream or something soon." He hoped.

Neal just grunted in acknowledgement.

Peter took a look at the sky. It was going to get dark in about three hours, and a lot colder. They were going to have to stop and make a fire, regardless of the smugglers finding them. If they were even looking for them anymore that was.

Peter sighed and sat down next to his friend, letting him lean against him a little. Peter looked at Neal's leg and saw that it was bleeding a little again.

"Your bleeding again," Peter noted.

"Yeah, I know," Neal said, looking down at his thigh as well, grimacing at the feeling of his own blood sliding down his leg.

"How you feeling? You light-headed? Dizzy?" Peter asked, needing to know how his CI was doing.

"A little. Not as bad as earlier, though."

"Anything I can do to help?" Peter knew he couldn't really do anything, but still thought he should ask.

"Get us out of here," Neal said with a small smile.

Peter smiled back and said, "Yeah, I'm working on it." And then they sat there in compatible silence while they rested.

Ten minutes later Peter decided they should continue their journey. "Okay, buddy, we should get going again. Ready?" Peter said.

"Yup, let's go," Neal said, wrapping his arm around Peter's shoulders and slowly stood up.

Once the dizziness passed, Neal nodded to Peter and they continued on their way, hoping to find water or civilization.

WCWCWCWC

Two and a half hours later.

"We should stop, it's going to get dark soon and I'm going to need some light to look at your leg," Peter said as he let Neal sit down against a tree and sat next to him.

"Do you have to? I don't think it'll look much different," Neal said, a little breathlessly.

"I need to see if there's any sign of infection."

"Fine," Neal said, letting his head fall back against the tree and closing his eyes.

Neal's leg had been bleeding on and off during their trek through the wilderness, but Peter hadn't really been able to do much about it. He unwrapped the scarf and carefully peeled off the hat. The wound was red and painful looking. He put a hand on the side of it and could feel heat coming from it. Neal sucked in a sharp breath and tried his best not to move away or hit Peter.

Peter took his hand off Neal's leg and said, "Your leg's a little warm."

"I guess they didn't sanitize the bolt before shooting me with it," Neal mumbled without bothering to open his eyes.

Peter re-wrapped the wound and looked at the sky again. The sun would set in about twenty minutes and Peter knew that he needed to start a fire to stay warm.

Peter stood up and Neal opened his eyes. He looked up at Peter and asked, "Where are you going?" with a hint of alarm.

Peter held up a hand and patted the air, saying, "I'm just going to get some sticks to start a fire. You stay here."

"Couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to," he said, glaring at his leg.

Peter gave a, hopefully, reassuring smile and left to find something to start a fire with.

Neal must have dozed off because the next thing he remembered was someone tapping his face. "Five more minutes," he mumbled.

Peter chuckled and said, "Well, okay. Just make sure you tell me if you need anything," but he reevaluated his words when Neal's eyes opened and he could see a mischievous spark in them. He pointed a finger at Neal and said, "Within reason. I don't have any water." Neal fake pouted and closed his eyes.

Peter went back to work on the fire he was trying to build, but looking up at Neal every few minutes to make sure he was doing okay.

Ten minutes later Peter had a small fire going and crouched down next to his wounded partner, knowing he needed to wake him up to get him closer to the fire. Neal was still leaning against the same tree he had left him at. He had his eyes closed and his mouth was opened a little, a soft snore coming from him.

Peter gripped Neal's shoulder and shook it gently, saying, "Hey, Neal, can you wake up for me?"

Neal slowly opened his eyes and looked around until his eyes landed on Peter. "How long was I out?" he said as he rubbed a hand across his face.

"Not long. You wanna get up and get closer to the fire?" Only after Peter said that did Neal realize how cold he was and that there was a fire a few feet away.

"Yeah," Neal said put his arm around Peter's shoulder and stood up. After the pain let up a little they made their way to the nearby fire and Peter slowly helped Neal into a sitting position next to their valuable source of warmth.

Neal watched Peter put more sticks from a pile onto the fire to keep it alive. "Did you get some wild berries or catch a squirrel or something? 'Cause I'm starving," Neal said with a playful smirk on his face.

"No. I can't do everything myself. I think that was your job anyway," Peter said lightly.

"You're the survivalist, Crusoe, not me."

"If I do everything for you then you will never learn." Both men blatantly ignored the real reason why Neal wasn't doing anything to help. Though Peter had a feeling that Neal couldn't catch a squirrel if he wasn't injured and had a gun.

"But you're so good at it!" Neal said with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah I guess you're right; I am," Peter said, returning the smile.

After a few minutes Peter noticed that Neal was still shivering and now he was sweating a little too. "You cold?" Peter asked.

Neal looked up at Peter and said, "Yeah; little bit."

 _'The infection is getting worse,'_ Peter thought worryingly. "Here...we should conserve heat," Peter said, then sat next to Neal and put an arm around him, pulling him close.

Neal put his head on Peter's shoulder and said, "I won't tell Elizabeth if you won't."

Peter chuckled and rubbed Neal's arm up and down to help warm him. "I'm sure she'll understand."

After a few minutes Neal started to fall asleep. Peter said, "Hey, bud, why don't you lie down?"

Neal nodded and let Peter guide him to the ground. Neal was asleep less than a minute later and Peter followed soon after.


	4. I Miss My Hat

When Peter opened his eyes he immediately checked on Neal. The kid was on his side curled up in a ball, except for his injured leg that no doubt hurt to move, and still asleep. He looked a little better than the night before - at least he wasn't sweating or shivering anymore. _'Maybe the sleep helped him,'_ Peter thought hopefully.

"Stop staring at me; it's creepy," Neal mumbled without opening his eyes.

"I'm not staring," Peter said and looked away.

"Well not anymore, you're not," Neal said with a smirk on his face, then opened his eyes. He looked up at Peter and said, "Morning."

"Morning. Sleep well?"

"No dreams of Paris, but not bad," Neal said and sat up slowly, wincing as he did.

"Can I take another look at your leg?" Peter asked as he pointed at Neal's thigh.

Neal looked at Peter and smiled. He had that same mischievous look in his eyes whenever he had a smart-mouth comment in his head that was just waiting to come out. "Am I still hot?"

And there it was. Peter couldn't help but smile, not so much at the joke itself, but because Neal was making jokes, and if Neal was making jokes then he couldn't be doing that bad, right?

"We'll see." Peter unwrapped the wound and lightly put his hand on it to feel the heat. Neal curled his fingers around the dirt on the ground and looked anywhere but his leg. "Your warm, but not hot," Peter said and smiled when Neal gave him a feigned heartbroken look.

"Your words hurt me, Peter," Neal said as he placed a hand over his heart.

"I know. I'm a terrible man," Peter said with mock seriousness.

Peter re-wrapped the wound and let the both of them rest for a while.

"So, how much longer do you think we need to go that way before we find water? 'Cause I'm still thirsty," Neal said and pointed with his head to the right.

"How do you know we're going that way?" Peter asked. That _was_ the way they were going, but Peter didn't expect Neal to know that.

"I was paying attention to your Boy Scout lessons, believe it or not."

"Well, we have to run into some sooner or later. I've seen some deer tracks, so maybe if we follow them they'll lead us to some water."

"So you're a tracker now? What's next, drinking your own pee? 'Cause I'm not _that_ thirsty," Neal said as he shook his head and made a disturbed face.

"Yes I'm a tracker now, well, more of one then you are."

"I'm good at having people lose my trail, not finding them."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Fair enough."

After a few minutes of silence Neal suddenly said, "I miss my hat," and looked up with a longing expression on his face.

Peter snorted and asked, "Which one?"

Neal said, "All of them," while looking at Peter with sadness.

"We'll get back to them before you know it, just be patient," Peter said and patted Neal on the shoulder. "Speaking of, we should probably get going if you want to see them any time soon."

"Okay," Neal said.

After they stood up, Neal started wavering on his feet, and if Peter wasn't there he would have fallen again. "Whoa, you okay?" Peter asked and let Neal lean against a tree while still holding him up. His eyes were pinched shut and he was taking fast, shallow breaths. "Neal?"

After taking a few deep breaths, Neal finally opened his eyes and looked at Peter. "I'm okay, just got a little dizzy," he said and waved it off. "Let's go."

Peter didn't looked convinced, but readjusted his hold on Neal and then they started walking again.


	5. Not A Mirage

Five more hours of exhausting walking with short breaks interspersed in between, they finally found a stream.

"Peter? Can you see mirages in a forest?" Neal asked as he slowed down.

"Uh, I don't think so, buddy. Why?" Peter asked as they both stopped completely.

"I think I see something," he said, looking at something to his right.

"Where?" Peter asked and looked where Neal was looking, but didn't see anything.

Neal started moving that direction and Peter was forced to follow.

"I don't see any-" then Peter finally saw what Neal did. A small stream about twenty feet away. It blended in with the leaves and rocks. How Neal saw it, Peter didn't know, but he didn't care - it was water and it was beautiful.

They rushed over to it as fast as they could and Peter helped Neal to the ground next to the stream. Neal dragged himself a little closer and drank greedily, as did Peter.

After a few minutes Peter thought he had enough and started cleaning his face and hair. Neal was drinking slower and he also took longer to clean himself.

"I never thought water could taste this good," Peter said and Neal nodded in agreement.

After they finished cleaning off the dirt from their faces, Neal looked up at Peter and hesitantly asked, "Do we have to clean my wound?"

Peter looked at Neal and could see that he didn't want to ask that question, but knew that it needed asked. He sighed and said, "Yeah, we do. I'm sorry."

Neal just tried to move his leg closer to the water. Peter helped bring him to the edge and took off the makeshift bandage. The wound looked more swollen than the last time he looked at it. He brought some water to Neal's leg and rubbed it as gently as he could, but the movements caused Neal to whimper and pinch his eyes shut.

By the time Peter was done Neal was leaning heavily on a large rock, trying to control the pain. "Ok, I'm done," Peter said. "I'm sorry."

Neal opened his eyes and looked at Peter. "Not your fault. You're helping more than hurting," Neal said truthfully. He knew that if Peter wasn't there he wouldn't have made it five feet and probably would have died in this forest.

After a few more minutes Neal looked up at Peter with a sad look on his face and said, "I'm still hungry," more to annoy Peter than anything.

Peter just shook his head and said, "I just can't win with you, can I?" He continued in a voice that was supposed to sound like Neal, but ended up sounding like a whining brat. And that was just ridiculous, because Neal was not a brat and he didn't whine. "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, it's not an arrow, it's a bolt, I miss my hats."

"First of all, you leave my hats out of this, they never did anything to you. And, second of all, I do not sound like that," Neal said in mostly mock sternness.

"You sound a lot like that to me," Peter said with a smirk.

"Yeah, just pick on the injured guy, real nice," Neal said and tried to hide the smile that threatened to show.

"I would never pick on you, I'm just stating facts."

"I don't need your facts, I need food, and some Vicodin."

"How about we continue to make our way toward some burgers and drugs?" Peter said and came up to Neal's side to help him up.

"Wait which way are we gonna go? We were going west, but the stream only goes north or south, and we're going to follow it right?"

"Yeah we're going to follow it. Um... We'll go south. Downstream. We'll have a better chance at finding civilization then," Peter said, then helped Neal to his feet. Once he was as steady as he was going to get, they started walking downstream, staying close to their lifeline.


	6. Now You're Getting It!

After another hour of walking, and Neal tripping twice, they stopped again.

"You okay?" Peter asked as he looked at the younger man who sat next to him by the water.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Peter sighed. He knew that Neal was not fine. He'd been leaning on him more and more as he walked and couldn't hide the winces of pain with each step. "Neal, just give it to me straight. I need to know how you're feeling, and maybe I can help." Peter didn't know how he could help, but he wanted to do something.

Neal sighed. "I'm dizzy, I feel nauseous, my leg is killing me, I'm starving, I'm tired, and I'm hot one minute and cold the next," Neal confessed. "No I'm not 'fine', but there's nothing we can do about it until we get out of here." He looked at Peter and could see that the agent wanted to do something to help him. "You're doing more than enough." He met Peter's gaze and spoke sincerely. "Thank you."

Peter just smiled and and put an arm around the younger man. Peter could feel the tremors coursing through his lithe frame. Whether they were from pain, exhaustion or the fever he could also feel coming from his friend, he didn't know. He did know that if he didn't get help soon Neal was not going to make it much farther. It was just taking too much out of him to walk in his injured state. Hell, even Peter was having trouble.

A few more minutes later they got back up and slowly hobbled south.

WCWCWCWC

Four and a half hours later the sun was starting to set, and the ex-con man and FBI agent stopped by the stream and sat down, leaning their exhausted selves against some rocks.

The stream flowed over the rocks scattered about the water in a calm, soothing manner, and the trees and plants around the water were a lavish green. The scene would have been picturesque if the situation were less dire and the observers weren't too drop-dead exhausted to enjoy it.

"I don't think...I've been this hungry...in my entire life," Neal panted. "When are you going to catch that squirrel?"

"That...was your job...I started the fire, remember?"

Neal shook his head. "No, pretty sure that one was your responsibility, my job was to sit there and do nothing. I've been holding up my side of the bargain," he said and pointed at himself.

"I'm not catching a damn squirrel. I _can't_ catch a squirrel."

"Fine, we'll just starve," Neal sighed and threw up his hands in defeat.

"We're not going to starve," Peter said and Neal just nodded and watched the water.

"It was easier to break out of a maximum security prison than get out of this damn forest," Neal suddenly said as he glowered at his surroundings.

Peter laughed, patted Neal on the shoulder and got up, saying, "I'm going to get something to start a fire with," and left.

When Peter came back he saw that Neal had nodded off, so he worked on getting the fire started.

It only took Peter five minutes to get the fire going this time. He walked back over to Neal and crouched down next to him. The kid was shivering and sweating a little and his hand was on his injured leg, right above the wound. Peter grabbed his shoulder and shook it gently. "Hey, Neal, you awake?"

"Mm, no. Go away," Neal moaned and weakly pushed at the annoying hand that was shaking him.

"You need to get closer to the fire, buddy. You have to be awake to do that," Peter informed him.

Neal shook his head and opened his eyes. "No, you can carry me," he said with a big smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Not over the threshold, though - that would just be awkward."

Peter shook his head. "I've been carrying you all day, it's your turn to carry yourself," Peter said, but knew that he was going to help him.

"Fine," Neal consented and got up with Peter's help and walked over to the small fire a few feet away. "Why can't you make the fires closer to to where I pass out? I think it would be easier for you _and_ me," He said after he caught his breath and the pain went down a little.

Peter pointed at the wet and uneven ground where Neal was sitting and said, "I couldn't build a fire there, it wouldn't start."

"Did you try?" Neal challenged.

"No, but I know it wouldn't."

"You don't know that."

"If you don't like where the fire is, then you can build your own."

"Naw, I like this one," Neal said as he put his hands up to warm them. "Just not that I had to walk to it."

"Maybe you should pass out in places that are better for making fires," Peter suggested.

"You're the one that put me next to the water, I just chose not to get up," Neal pointed out.

Peter threw his hands in the air in disbelief. "It's always my fault isn't it?" Peter asked.

"Now you're getting it!" Neal said enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I've got it all figured out now," Peter said as he kept a watchful eye on his friend.

After a few minutes of silence Neal said, "Stop looking at me like that. You can't see my leg. Stop getting any ideas."

"I'm not gonna look at your leg."

"Good," Neal said. When he thought Peter wasn't looking he put his hand on the wound, trying not to pull away to stop the pain, and could feel the heat coming from it. It was definitely infected, that much he was sure of.

Neal was starting to get really tired so he carefully laid himself down and drifted off, knowing Peter was looking out for him.

Peter had a lot of time to think after Neal drifted off. He knew that they needed food severely, and he also knew that Neal couldn't go hunting with him, he would just be a hindrance. Edible plants seemed like the easiest thing to catch, but he hadn't seen anything that he knew was edible, yet.

He could try to hunt some animals with rocks or something, as ridiculous as it may sound. It may be worth all the work just to see the look on Neal's face when brought a squirrel back. The kid would be giddy. But then he would realize that they had to eat the innocent little woodland creature. And he was sure that Neal wouldn't like the taste, and neither would he.

Peter is pretty sure Neal would starve to death before he ate any insects, though it would be funny to ask him to.

Fishing is a possibility. He could try to make some sort of trap or something, and they were already by water, but Peter didn't know how he would trap them. He didn't really have much to work with.

Peter decided to sleep and figure things out in the morning. He lied down behind to Neal and huddled close to him. For warmth and to be able to feel Neal breathing to reassure himself that he was still okay. Well, as okay as he could be.


	7. If Boredom Doesn't Kill Me First

Peter woke to the only voice that he had heard for the last two days. "You know, this is pretty weird," Neal said.

Peter opened his eyes to see that they were still huddled together with Peter's arm wrapped around Neal, and Neal's back to him. "I won't tell if you won't," Peter said and snuggled closer just to bug Neal.

"Okay - I think that's enough spooning for now," Neal said as he slowly pulled away and sat up.

Neal's hair had fallen across his forehead in a way that made him look so young and innocent. One of which Peter knew from experience was _not_ true. His hand was above the wound on his leg again and Peter could see the lines of pain on his face.

"What?" Neal asked and Peter hadn't realized that he was staring.

"Nothing," Peter said, sliding his eyes away.

Neal sighed and closed his eyes for a second. "You want to check on the wound," he said matter-of-factly.

Peter didn't want to disturb the wound and hurt Neal, but he had to see if it had gotten worse. And they should probably clean it too. "Yeah. We should clean it, too."

Neal just nodded and offered his hand.

After checking on the wound to see that it looked about the same, and cleaning it, they moved up the stream a little to avoid the now muddy water, and replenished their thirst and cleaned up a bit.

Peter decided that he needed to broach the subject of food to Neal now. "Neal, I'm going to have to go and try to find something to eat. We can't go much longer without food."

Neal nodded in agreement. "And I'm guessing that I can't come," he said, more of an answer than a question.

"Yeah. I don't want to leave you, but I don't really see another way," Peter answered remorsefully.

"I'll be fine. I won't go anywhere. It's _you_ we should be worrying about. You could get lost," Neal replied with feigned seriousness.

"I don't think I'm going to get lost," Peter told him.

"Okay, just don't make me wait up. You know I get worried," Neal said and winked. Peter just shook his head at his CI's antics. "So, how are you going to hunt? You said you can't catch a squirrel."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to look for some edible plants first, but if that doesn't work, I might try to hunt with rocks or sticks."

Neal just looked at Peter as if waiting for the punch line.

"Seriously Neal, people hunted that way long before guns came around."

"Yeah, but they knew what they were doing. I'm not sure you do."

"Well, it's better than doing nothing," Peter said, thinking about himself not Neal, but a flash of sadness and maybe a little anger came across Neal's face, but was gone just as fast. "I didn't mean it like that. I was talking about myself, not you. I know you can't do anything," the moment the words left his mouth he wish he could take them back, too. "That's not what I meant. What I meant to say-"

Neal held up a hand to silence his friend. "It's okay Peter, I understand. I know I can't do much, but I can sit around while you get us some food."

"I would have to see that to believe it," Peter said good naturally. "Is there somewhere you want to sit while I'm out?" Peter then asked.

"Yeah, back over there." Neal pointed downstream a little, about where he fell asleep the night before. "It's close to the water and has some rocks to lean against."

Peter nodded and helped Neal up. They slowly walked over to one of the rocks by the water and Peter helped Neal back down, but didn't sit down himself.

Peter took in the sight of his CI and sighed. His eyes were pinched shut and his breathing was fast and shallow. The small walk took a lot out of him.

Neal opened his eyes and turned his gaze to Peter. "You can go. I'll be fine," he said, then smiled up at Peter. "Get something good." 

"Okay, I'll go, but don't get into any trouble," Peter said as he pointed a stern finger at Neal.

Neal feigned innocence. "Me? I would never get in trouble, Peter," Neal said and winked again.

"I guess that's the best I'm going to get to a promise... Well, I guess I'll see you," Peter said and walked off, a little awkwardly, as he tried not to worry about Neal too much.

WCWCWCWC

Neal was a man of action, always had been. Watching from the sidelines was not what he did. So, about ten minutes after Peter left, Neal thought he was going to die of boredom before the infection or hunger could finish him off.

He tried to come up with games with the sticks and rocks around him, but without anyone to play the mind numbing games he came up with, he decided to skip rocks across the stream. Unfortunately, the stream was only about three feet wide and he ran out of rocks he could reach fairly quickly.

Either boredom or fatigue soon claimed Neal and he fell into a light sleep.


	8. Wrong Kind Of Civilization

The snapping of a twig nearby brought Neal out of his slumber.

It was quiet, but Neal heard it. It came from the right of him and he opened his eyes to look in that direction. What he saw made his heart sink.

Two men with crossbows were approaching him. They didn't bother being quiet - it wasn't like Neal could attack them, even if he wasn't injured, he was outnumbered and outgunned. All he had for a weapon was some small, waterlogged sticks.

They didn't even have their weapons aimed at him. They were holding them so casually, like it was normal for a couple of psychopaths to be strolling around in the forest with their crossbows.

"Hey, guys!" Neal said with enthusiasm that he did not feel.

The one that had said his name was John approached and said, "We've been looking for you, Connor," with a smile that looked to have evil intent.

"Really? 'Cause I was looking for you. Small world," Neal said as he flashed them a grin.

"Where's your friend?" Said the other one that had called himself Greg.

"Who?" Neal said with an innocent look on his face. If they didn't know that Peter was out here then it may have worked, but they knew, and it didn't.

"That Richards guy, he was there with you," Greg said as he waved his crossbow around carelessly.

"Oh, him. Yeah, he left me. Said that I was a 'burden'," Neal said with a sad expression and looked pointedly at his leg that was wrapped up in the makeshift bandage.

The two smugglers seemed to think that was funny. "Ha! I guess Rick _did_ hit something," Greg said.

"Haha! Every man for himself," John said. "Ah well, Tim and Rick should catch up with him sooner or later."

Neal's gut twisted at those words. He hoped that Peter was watching out for the smugglers. And that he got back soon to get him out of this mess, like he always did.

"Okay, on your feet," Greg ordered as he walked closer and pointed his crossbow at Neal.

Neal raised his hands and said, "Okay, okay. I'm getting up." He used the rock he was leaning against to help himself stand up. The world seemed to tilt sideways and he closed his eyes against the dizziness. After a few seconds he opened his eyes and looked over to John and Greg, who didn't seem to care about his wellbeing.

He tried to put weight on his injured leg and it almost gave out under him. Pain blossomed at his thigh, causing him to yelp a little. "I hope that wherever you're taking me isn't very far, because I'm not sure how far I can make it." Peter was always there to lean on whenever he walked anywhere. He was not used to putting that much weight on his leg.

"Not far. Come on," Greg order again.

"Okay." Neal put weight on his injured leg again. The pain was terrible, but he knew that he had to walk or they would probably shoot him where he stood. Why they hadn't yet confused and scared him. 'Why do they still need me?' Neal wondered.

Neal tried to walk, but he was limping and pain shot through his leg every other step. "Come on! You can move faster than that," Greg said and pushed Neal.

If there wasn't a tree right next to him, Neal would have fallen. He was tempted to yell at him, but knew that would be a bad idea, so he pushed away from the tree and kept walking, with Greg and John following him closely.

After a few minutes Neal heard a sound to his right. He looked that way but couldn't see anything. 'Maybe it was Peter,' Neal thought hopefully. 'Probably just an animal though,' The cynical side of Neal couldn't help but to point out.

Finally, after about twenty minutes of painful walking, Neal could see the cabin he and Peter were at a few days ago when the smugglers showed them where they were hiding some of their contraband that mostly consisted of stolen antiquities. If him and Peter kept walking along the river they never would have found it, not that they wanted to.

It was not a huge cabin and not a very nice one either, but it had running water and electricity. Two things that Neal hadn't had for that past two days, so he couldn't really complain.

Of what Neal saw when they were here last time, the cabin had a small living room/kitchen area, a bathroom, a bedroom, and Neal had felt something under a rug in front of the couch, so maybe there was a basement.

The six of them (John, Greg, Tim, Rick, Peter and himself) walked from a dirt road about three miles away, where they had left their cars, so there were not any vehicles to steal around the cabin.

They walked the last few feet, then Neal stopped and leaned against the wall by the door, unsure of what to do. John walked up to the door, pulled out some keys and unlocked the door, but didn't walk in. He motioned Neal to walk in first.

Neal was hesitant to, but knew that any other option would end with an bolt in the back, so he walked in. But before he could do anything he was violently pushed and there were no convenient trees to stop his fall so he landed hard on his stomach. "Ow," he said breathlessly.

Neal heard someone pass him and someone else stop next to him, but he didn't move, he was trying to get his breath back. Suddenly, he was kicked hard in the side and he curled up around the pain. "Get up," John ordered.

Neal slowly pushed up on his elbows and looked around. John was towering over him and Greg was pulling the rug by the couch away and opening the trap door that was under it.

Neal somehow managed to make it to his feet and looked to John for his next instructions. "In the basement," John said and pointed at the trap door that Greg was standing by, both still armed with their crossbows.

Neal limped over to the trap door and looked at the ten or so stone steps in the dark hole with trepidation. How was he supposed to make it down that? His question was quickly answered with another shove. He stumbled down the stairs, seeming to hit each step with a different body part, causing bolts of pain to shoot everywhere. When he finally made it to the bottom he hit his head and everything went black.


	9. The FBI Agent Hunting The Ex-Conman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is even shorter, but I just wanted to put Peters POV in this chapter.

Hunting was not easy, Peter decided. He found some rocks to throw at something, but he could never get close enough to anything to even try to hit it. He tried looking for plants and found some wild blueberries that seemed to be the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten. But after a few hours away from Neal Peter was starting to get worried. You never know what kind of trouble the kid could get into in a forest without him.

Peter, with a handful of blueberries in his hand, was just about to where he had left Neal when he heard some voices. He stopped and took a look around.

Across the stream was two men hovering over Neal. Peter pocketed the blueberries, ducked behind a tree and watched them. 'I knew he would get in trouble,' Peter thought. Not that it was his fault this time. Trouble just seemed to find him.

Peter thought back to how they got in this mess in the first place.

Neal was undercover as Neal Connor, a businessmen that wanted to buy some antiquates that the smugglers had in a cabin out in the woods, away from prying eyes, with Peter as Peter Richards, Neal's personal assistant. The four smugglers said that they wanted to hunt a little to see how good they were, but were just luring them deeper in the forest to kill them because they knew that they were FBI.

After the smugglers told them that they knew they were FBI, Neal and Peter distracted them long enough to make a break for it, but Neal got hit a few minutes into the run and they ducked behind a tree for cover.

How their cover got blown, Peter did not know, he would have to find out when he and Neal got back to civilization.

Both men had crossbows and more bolts in their quivers on their hips. Peter knew that he couldn't just run up to them and start throwing rocks at them, hoping to knock them out, so he decided to wait them out until he saw an opportunity to strike.

He watched as Neal struggled to stand and his heart clenched. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, but the two men didn't care. Peter wished he could help him, but knew that not getting caught would be the most helpful thing he could do for him at the moment.

Peter followed them as they started walking, making sure not to be seen. But that plan didn't work to well when he accidentally make a noise. He ducked behind a bush and watched is Neal turned and looked over for a second.

He wanted to let Neal know that he's was there, but didn't want to chance getting seen by the other two men. So he stayed out of sight then continued to follow them to the cabin.

Neal walked into the cabin and was shoved by the man who called himself John. John and the man who called himself Greg walked into the cabin and shut the door.

The cabin only had two windows and the curtains were covering them, so Peter could get a little closer, but he still stayed back about fifty feet, hiding behind a tree.

Peter had to come up with a plan. That was the first thing he had to do.

He could wait until night and attack when they were asleep, that way he had the element of surprise.

He could walk the three miles back to the cars and get his phone that the men insisted that he leave. That seemed like the most logical plan, but that idea went out the window as soon as he remembered that he didn't know which way to go, being as they blindfolded them so they didn't know where their cabin was. Walking through the forest with a blindfold on hadn't been easy, but they had insisted, and Neal and Peter wanted to earn their trust.

So Peter decided to wait until night to attack.


	10. The Basement

When the world slowly came back into focus, Neal saw a dirty brick wall in front of him. He was lying on his side on the cold cement floor in the basement of a cabin somewhere in the woods. Things were not looking up for him.

Neal rolled on his back and pain jolted through his head, chest, right leg and left wrist all at once.

He slowly sat up and waited for some of the pain and dizziness to die down, then looked at himself. He was dirty and his sweater was ripped a little. His leg was bleeding a little again as well as his head. He looked at his left wrist and saw it was swollen and he didn't dare move it from where he held it protectively against his chest.

Needing support, he dragged himself to lean against the wall then looked around. The room was about twenty feet by thirty feet wide. There was a single lightbulb on the ceiling that dimly illuminated the room. The light between the cracks of the ceiling that came from the floor above seemed to light the place up more. There were some wooden boxes in one of the far corners. One of them were open and he could see two Ming vases on top of the packing material.

Neal listened to see if he could hear either of the men above him, but all he heard was the TV that was playing what sounded like an old western movie.

He knew that he should have been coming up with some sort of plan, but he was just so tired and hungry. After a few minutes his eyes seemed to close without his permission and he passed out.

WCWCWCWC

Some undetermined time later, Neal was abruptly awakened to the sound of the trap door above him opening. John and Greg walked down the steps and came over to where Neal was sitting.

"Where did Richards go?" Greg asked in lieu of a greeting.

"I told you, he left me. He's probably out of the forest by now." Neal almost hoped it was the truth, but he knew that Peter wouldn't leave him. Unless he couldn't find him. That noise in the forest could have been anything.

"Bullshit!" Greg exclaimed and kicked Neal's injured leg, causing Neal to cry out and grab his leg. "He wouldn't have left you."

"Well, I guess he's not as noble as you thought he was," Neal panted.

"You guys are FBI. You're partners. He wouldn't have left his partner," John said. That made Neal look up sharply. "Yeah, we know you're FBI."

"I'm not FBI. Neither is my _former_ assistant," Neal said bitterly. "He left me to die in the woods. He's definitely fired."

Greg kicked Neal's leg again. Neal let out a howl of pain and tried to scoot back a little, but John was in his path. "Just give up the act. We know who you are," Greg said as he loomed over Neal.

They may know that they were FBI, but they didn't seem to know their real names, or that Neal was only a consultant. He could use that to his advantage, somehow. If he could think past the pain and exhaustion.

"Does the FBI know we're here?" Greg asked when Neal didn't speak up.

Neal didn't know if the lie was going to work, but he couldn't go back to it if he gave up and told them the truth. "I wouldn't know."

John kicked him in the ribs this time and Neal doubled over, gasping for air. Not even giving him a second to recover, John grabbed Neal's hair and yanked his head back so he looked up at him. The man leaned in close and whispered, "If you don't answer our questions, things are going to get _real_ bad for you." He let go of Neal's hair and punched him in the stomach.

Neal put his right arm around his middle and tried to get his lungs to start working again. "I _am_ answering your questions!" he told them after he thought he could breathe again.

"We have a reliable source. One that's more reliable than you," John spat.

"A source? Well, I guess you need a new source, because they're not telling the truth," Neal said, hoping that he could somehow get them to doubt their source.

John and Greg looked at each other with a little concern, but it quickly changed to amusement. "I think we can trust him."

So it was a him. Or, they didn't know who the person and assumed that it was a him. If they trusted this person, then Neal didn't see a point of keeping this act up. "Okay...I do work for the FBI," he admitted reluctantly, though with some hope that they'd stop hitting him now that he was cooperating.

John and Greg smiled. "Good. Next question. Why are you guys here?" John asked.

"We were here to get evidence on you guys," Neal answered. He thought that was obvious, but decided not to tell them that.

"What do the FBI know about us?" John asked and waved his hand between himself and Greg.

"I haven't talked to them in days, so I'm not sure what they have on you right now." He wasn't giving any valuable information away, he had to just stall long enough for Peter to come and save his butt.

"Good. You're doing good." Greg said, nodding. "Where is Richards?"

"I told you, he left me, and he's not coming back," Neal said as he pushed himself up a little more and hugged his injured wrist to himself. He was going to try his hardest to get them to believe that Peter was gone. Peter needed to be safe for him to be able to help them both out of this mess. 

"I really don't think he's that kind of man." Greg looked at his wrist and smiled, then grabbed it and squeezed. Neal cried out and tried to pull away, but he was just making worse. "Where is Richards?!" Greg yelled.

"I don't know!" Neal yelled back. The pain in his wrist was agonizing, his vision was telescoping and it was getting harder to breathe.

When Neal started to list to the side Greg let go of the wrist and Neal pulled it back immediately. Neal fell all the way over and welcomed the darkness that took him away from the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, Greg and John are mean! Let me know what you think! Reviews make me smile!


	11. Then There Was Four

Neal woke up to pain that seemed to be everywhere, pulsing through his body and hitting every nerve.

He opened his eyes to still find himself in the desolate place that had been his cell for some unknown number of hours.

He carefully levered himself to a sitting position and tried not to pass out again. The pain, hunger and exhaustion was really taking a toll on his body and he really wasn't sure how much more he had left in him.

He wanted to get up and climb the stairs to see if he could pick the lock, if there _was_ a lock, but he didn't think he _could_ get up, let alone get up the steps. So he decided to save his energy for something manageable, like staying upright.

Neal's ears perked up when he heard a door open and close upstairs. "Did you find him?" a muffled voice that sounded like John asked. There was some footsteps and Neal could see some shadows moving around through the cracks in the ceiling.

"No, they're probably not even out there anymore," said another voice that sounded like Tim. Neal let out a sigh of relief. Peter was still okay, for now. "You guys have any luck?"

"Yep, We got Connor. He was hurt, too. You actually hit something, Rick! Who knew you could!" Greg joked.

"Told you I could...Where's he now?" That one was definitely Rick. He had a very deep voice that matched his large, intimidating body type.

"We got him in the basement. He hasn't told us much yet, but he's admitted that he's FBI. He keeps saying that Richards left him, but I know he didn't," Greg said with unwavering confidence.

"Well, we should go 'ask' him again, see if he'll tell us," Rick said ominously. A chill ran down Neal's spine. Neal didn't want to be 'asked' again.

"We can't, Greg went a little too far and he passed out. He's probably not awake yet," John told them, but didn't seem to be mad at Greg. Neal thought he could hear something that sounded like amusement and maybe a little pride in his voice, like causing someone so much pain that they passed out was something to be praised for.

"Well, all right. I guess we'll just wait a little while," Rick said, sounding a little sad for having to wait.

"Have you fed him yet? He's been out in the woods for a few days now, he's probably hungry," Tim said, speaking up for the first time. Neal had liked Tim the most when they all met. He was the youngest and newest member of their little group and he was the nicest, too. And Neal was so hungry, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on without food. He hoped they would take pity on him and give him something.

"He won't be much use to us if he's dead," John rationalized.

"Get him something to eat then," Greg said. He didn't seem to be too happy to feed Neal, but understood that a dead prisoner was a useless one.

Neal could hear more footsteps and someone rummaging around in something. Neal lied back down on his side so they didn't know he had woken up. Maybe they would leave him alone then. He was planning on avoiding another interrogation for as long as he could.

A few minutes later the hatch opened and he heard someone descend the stairs. Someone came up to him and kicked him in the stomach and said, "Wake up, foods here." It was John. Neal curled in himself and moaned a little but didn't open his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered and Neal heard something being placed in front of him. John walked back up the steps and closed the trap door, leaving Neal to his food.

Neal waited a minute and opened his eyes to see a plate of mashed potatoes and green beans on front of him.

He listened for any voices, but couldn't hear anything but the TV again and briefly wondered if that was why it was on.

He sat up and dug into the food, using his hands because there were no utensils. _'They don't want me to have a weapon,'_ Neal thought to himself. The potatoes were bland and the green beans were soggy, but it was so delicious, and gone way too quickly.

After a few more minutes of licking his fingers and the plate like an animal, Neal's thoughts went to what Peter was doing right now. _'Was he planning an escape for me? Did he find his way out of the woods and was getting help?' h_ e wondered. _'Did he even know that I was taken, or was he still hunting? It had been hours, he had to know by now.'_

Neal was brought out of his muse when the trap door opened again and two of his captors came down for what he hoped was just a friendly chat. "Hey, guys! The food was delicious. Please send my compliments to the chef," Neal said sarcastically.

Luck was unfortunately not on his side, and Neal wondered if luck was going to be on his side anytime soon, because he could really use it right about now.

John and Greg didn't say a word as they came over and forced Neal on to his feet, then dragged him up the stairs and outside, ignoring the pained complaints.

WCWCWCWC

Peter was going nuts. When he saw Tim and Rick come back he wanted to jump them, but they came from the wrong direction and they were in the cabin before he could make a move. He had been waiting for hours, and he couldn't stand it much longer. It was going to get dark in about three hours, but Peter wanted to run in there now and save his friend.

He was in the middle of coming up with a crazy plan to go in early when the door to the cabin opened and five men came out. Rick and Greg were holding Neal by his arms and Tim and John followed behind. Neal appeared to be awake, but didn't seem to be able to walk without their help.

They dragged Neal to the middle of the clearing, then pushed him to his knees. He almost fell but found his balance and managed to stay upright. He had his left arm against his chest, and it looked like it was darker and bigger than it should be.

Peter's heart got caught in his throat when Greg pulled out a gun and pressed it to Neal's head. "We know you're out there, Richards. You have five seconds to show yourself," Greg yelled.

Neal closed his eyes for a moment and sucked in a shaky breath. He seemed to be steeling himself for what was about to come. When he opened his eyes again he scanned the tree line to see if he could see Peter, but couldn't find him.

Peter knew that he couldn't just stand by and watch as Neal was killed, it wasn't even an option. So he came out from where he was hiding and walked out to the group, with his hands held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, cliffhanger! What will happen next!?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Reviews make me smile!


	12. Terrible Rescue Plan

"Don't shoot," Peter called out as he walked over to the five men. Peter glanced at Neal and could see fear, pain and sadness in his eyes. He didn't want Peter to give himself up, but that was the only option that had the outcome of Neal living, even if it was only a little while longer. Peter had a plan anyway. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan.

Now that he was closer, Peter could see that Neal was favoring his injured leg and his left wrist was bent at an odd angle and was swollen. It was probably broken. Anger welled up inside of Peter at the thought of Neal hurt even worse than he was the last time he saw him, but he didn't let it take control. He had to have a level head for his plan to work.

"Search him, John," Greg said and nodded his head at Peter. Peter was acutely aware that he still had a gun pointed at Neal's head.

 _'Since when did they decide to use less archaic and more deadly weapons?'_ Peter wondered to himself.

John came over and patted Peter down. When he came across the blueberries that Peter had in pocket he showed them to the obvious leader, Greg. Greg just shrugged his shoulders so John put them back.

"I'm not surprised you came to the aid of your partner. I pegged you from the beginning," Greg told Peter arrogantly.

Peter looked directly at Greg. "I think I have a way for all of us to get what we want," he said after John finished the search.

"Yeah? And what's that?" Greg asked with a smile on his face, seemingly amused at Peter's attempt to take control of the situation.

"Me and Neal walk out of here and we never speak of what happened. You go back to your lives and we go back to ours. It's that simple."

"Ha! You think it's that simple? You're a noble man, but I guess you're a stupid one, too," Greg said. Peter could see that those words made Neal angry and he hoped he wouldn't do something impulsive.

"You call me a noble man, noblemen keep their words. I give you my word that we will never speak of any of this again."

Greg stared at Peter, seeming to see if Peter was telling the truth. After a minute, Greg spoke up again. "I may have believed you, but I know that you both have been lying to me since the moment we met." As he said this, he pushed the gun harder against Neal's head, causing him to wince. "I know who you are!" He said angrily.

The situation was quickly spiraling out of control and peter struggled to find a way to settle this without a bullet in both him and Neal's heads. "Greg, please just put the gun down so we can talk about this."

"I won't put the gun down! You FBI agents think you always can order people around. You're not going to order me around!" Peter could tell that the gun against Neal's head was becoming quite painful, but he didn't dare move.

"Okay, yes, we do work for the FBI. But they don't know anything about what has happened out here, and they don't ever have to."

"So I just let you go and hope that you keep your word? You must think I'm stupid." Greg scoffed.

"If I may interject here," Neal, who had been silent until now, said a little shakily. "I have known Peter for years and he has always kept his word. As for me, I wouldn't dare do anything to give you a reason to come after me," Neal told Greg while staring at Peter, being as Greg was behind him.

Greg looked back and forth from Peter to Neal, looking like was trying to make a decision of what to do.

Tim, Rick and John looked like they didn't like the idea of Greg making all the decisions, but seemed to be a little afraid of the man, so didn't say anything.

"Once an FBI agent, always an FBI agent. You would rat us out the second you got the chance." Greg seemed to have a lot of animosity towards the FBI, but Peter didn't know why. "Put them back in the basement," Greg, who seemed to have a bit of a god complex, ordered his men.

Neal looked helplessly at Peter, asking him what to do, but Peter just shook his head slightly, telling him not to take action. They would never stand a chance against four men, one of which was armed, even if Neal wasn't injured.

John and Tim took Peter by his arms as Rick hauled Neal to him feet and drug him along. Neal let out a small gasp when he was pulled up to his feet, but didn't do anything else but clench his jaw to show that he was in pain. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction to see him in pain.

John, Tim and Peter walked in first, with Neal and Rick following close behind and Greg behind them all with his gun at his side. He seemed to think he had the situation under control.

John let go of Peter and opened the hatch, then gestured Peter to walk down the steps to the cold basement. Peter took one more look at Neal, then walked down a few steps and waited for his ward. Neal was brought to the steps and he went down them as quickly as he could, not wanting a repeat of the last time he was in this situation.

Once Neal was close enough, Peter helped him down the rest of the steps, and into the desolate room. The door slammed shut and the two men were left alone.

Neal turned to Peter and said, "Well, this is the worst rescue plan I've _ever_ seen."

Peter mock glared and him, then helped him sit down against the wall. Peter then sat down next to him and Neal leaned his head against Peter's shoulder, drawing strength from his presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the boys are back together! Too bad it wasn't under better circumstances. But you know what that means? More witty banter!


	13. The Gambler

Peter looked at his partner and saw that his eyes were closed, he was sweating and breathing fast from the trip down to the basement. He wasn't asleep, just resting.

He looked much worse compared to when he had left him by the stream less than a day ago. The hat, scarf and his jeans had blood all over them, but they were like that the last time he saw them, so it was hard to see if the wound on his leg had bled more or not. But there was blood on the floor a few feet away from where they were sitting, so it probably did. His arm was still held protectively against his abdomen. Now that Peter could see it more clearly, he could tell it was definitely broken. There was dried blood on the side of his face from a cut by his hairline. All in all, he looked like hell.

After resting a few more minutes, Peter spoke up. "Hey, you doing okay?" he asked quietly, not really wanting their captors to hear them.

Neal opened his blue eyes and looked at Peter's brown ones. "Me?" he asked and pointed at himself.

Peter nodded.

"Oh, I'm doing great! I've been shot in the leg with a freaking crossbow bolt, I've wandered around the forest _on_ said shot leg, thrown down stairs, I was 'asked' for information-" he made air quotes with his right hand. "-I've barely eaten anything in days and now you have to suffer with me because you're 'noble'-" more air quotes. "-and you couldn't let me die!"

After Neal finished ranting, he seemed to deflate. He looked at Peter with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry, Peter. I-"

Peter put up one of his hands. "It's fine. I'm not mad at you. I understand your anger," he consoled. Neal nodded and seemed to accept Peter's words, but still looked ashamed for losing it in front of Peter.

"I guess I'm a little stressed," Neal said as he looked at his lap and laughed bitterly.

Feeling only a little awkward about it, Peter wrapped an arm around his ward. "I think you have good enough excuse to be upset."

Neal nodded and they were silent for a few minutes. Both Peter and Neal were really wishing that Neal still had his tracker on, but they just couldn't risk it for this undercover operation.

"Are you okay?" Neal asked as he looked Peter over.

Peter laughed at the absurdity of the question, but stopped when Neal kept looking at him, waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I'm okay. You never answered me though. Well, not truthfully, at least."

Neal sighed, then winced. "Not great, but there's nothing either of us can do to help, besides get out of here."

Peter looked around the small room, his eyes stopping at the hatch at the top of the stairs. "Is there a lock?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head. "Not that I know of." He looked down at his leg, looking a bit ashamed. "I haven't been able to get up the steps yet." He hadn't even tried.

"Well, I guess I'll go check," Peter said as he got up and quietly walked over to the stairs, then up them. He came to a stop right below the trap door and listened for any signs of anyone around, but all he heard was a TV playing some obnoxious commercial about saving fifteen percent or more on car insurance. Apparently playing poker with Kenny Rodgers can get old, pretty fast. _Great_ , now he was going to have that song stuck in his head all day.

Peter felt around the crack, but couldn't get his fingers under it. He knew if he tried to push on the hatch he would get the attention of men he did not want the attention of, so he walked back down the steps and back to his friend.

Neal looked up at him expectantly. "Well…?" He prompted.

Peter sighed as he sunk down to the floor next to Neal. "I can't tell if there's a lock and I don't want to try to open it and draw any attention," he explained.

"So...we just wait until they want to 'ask' more questions?" Neal asked, his frustration clear.

"What do you mean 'ask'?" Peter thought he knew, but there was a chance that they were just asking questions. A very small chance.

Neal moved his left arm away from his chest and lifted his sweater with his right. Peter could see dark bruises on his chest and abdomen. Neal put his shirt back in place with a wince. "They didn't 'ask' nicely, if that's what you're wondering."

Peter clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose for a minute. It was one thing thinking it, but seeing it on his partner made Peter's anger toward those men that much worse. "Is anything broken?" he asked once he got his temper under control.

"Not there," he said and lifted his left arm to accentuate his point.

Peter nodded. "What did they ask?"

"They know we're FBI, somehow, but they don't seem to know our real names, or that I'm just a consultant. I didn't tell them anything more than they already know."

"What do they want with us?" Peter wondered.

Neal shrugged. "Don't know...Do you think they would be stupid enough to try to ransom us?" Neal asked.

"Maybe. Greg really doesn't seem to like the FBI, I don't know why, though. I wasn't in his file that he was arrested or harassed or anything."

"The FBI doesn't negotiate with kidnappers," Neal recited, trailing back to his question.

"Yeah, but maybe we could get a message to them." Peter said. "Maybe someone close to him was arrested or something," Peter thought out loud and looked over to Neal when he put his head on his shoulder. He was still sweating and seemed way too hot. "Neal?" Peter asked in concern.

Neal moaned in response.

Peter noticed that he was also shivering, even though it wasn't cold enough to be shivering. He pulled him closer and rubbed his hand arm up and down Neal's arm. Neal snuggled closer and soon his breathing evened out and he was asleep.

Peter tried to process all the information in his head. 'What did they want with us? How much longer was Neal going to last like this? Where is the Calvary? They would have known something was up by now, so why weren't they busting down the door?'

And one question that was swimming around Peter's head since this all started. 'How are we going to make it out of this mess?' Too many questions, and no answers.

Peter let Neal sleep while he tried to think of all the answers they needed.

WCWCWCWC

About an hour later, Neal woke with a start and pulled away, looking around frantically. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay," Peter soothed.

Neal's eyes seemed to focus as he left his dream behind, and came back to reality. He settled back down against the wall. "It is? Okay, good. I thought we were locked in a basement by a couple of psychopaths in the middle of nowhere, with no backup," he said lightly.

"Okay, maybe it isn't okay, but we're going to get out of here."

Neal nodded, then looked up at the trapdoor warily. "Have they come back, yet?" He asked.

Peter shook his head. "No, it's been over an hour."

"Have you come up with a plan to take them down or escape when they come back down here?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. "Well, we don't know exactly what they want, so that doesn't help. And we can't fight them. Two against four would definitely not work."

"Do you have a plan? Because all I'm hearing is ways we _can't_ escape," Neal said.

"I was getting to it, if you were patient you would have heard it by now," Peter chided.

Neal made a 'go on' gesture.

"If they plan on ransoming us to the FBI then we need to send them a message through the proof of life video or photo." Neal nodded in agreement. "If they want information then we need to stall as long as we can while we give them as little as we can. If they plan on taking us deeper in the forest and shooting us we need to run like hell."

"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not really in running condition," Neal said and looked pointedly at his leg. "Peter, maybe you should-"

Peter cut him off before he could go any further. "Don't even finish that sentence, Caffrey. I am not leaving you to fend for yourself."

"If you leave me, you can get out of here and get backup, then they can come and save me," Neal explained.

"And what would happen while I was gone? How would I know which way to go? How the hell would I even get out of this basement?"

"I don't know, but if there's a chance for you to get away, you need to take it!"

"Stop it!" Peter yelled, but lowered his voice when he realized he was being too loud. "I'm not leaving you!" he hissed.

Neal sighed and gave up on the argument for the time being.

"When do you think they're gonna feed us?" Peter asked then suddenly thought of something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blueberries he had in there. They were all mushed and he didn't think El would ever be able to get the stain they made on his pants out, but they were something. He popped a few in his mouth then offered some to Neal.

Neal took a few in his hand and ate them slowly.

"Not hungry?" Peter said as a joke, but saw that Neal had gotten even paler from a few seconds ago. "Hey, you okay?" he asked.

Neal shook his head and immediately regretted it when the action took his nausea over the edge and he twisted away from Peter and vomited.

Peter held him up and rubbed his back as his body heaved the little amount of food he had in his stomach.

Finally the heaving stopped and he sat back up and leaned heavily on Peter. "That sucked," he panted. "I don't think my body likes blueberries," Neal joked, knowing exactly why he threw up.

"I don't think you're body likes infections," Peter said. Neal nodded in agreement.

Neal never really stopped sweating, but now he was drenched in it and shivering at the same time.

"Well, that's going to smell," Neal mumbled.

"I think that's the least of our worries," Peter muttered, but still wrinkled his nose at the smell.

A few minutes later, the trap door opened and all four men came down, probably to 'ask' some questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! What's going to happen?!
> 
> I thought that the Geico commercial was funny, but it keeps coming on and the song kept getting stuck in my head, so it got stuck in Peters head too.


	14. Asking Questions

The moment he heard the trap door open, Neal took his head off Peter's shoulder and moved over a little. Probably to make it look like they weren't that close, physically or emotionally, or to make it look like he could hold himself up, though it did look like that was a challenge in itself.

Peter got up and stood protectively in front of Neal. If they were here to hurt him, he would do all he could to stop that, even though it wouldn't be much.

Greg, Tim, John and Rick came up to the duo. John was holding two bottles of water while Rick and Tim each had a plate of baked beans and very stale looking bread.

Greg looked at the mess that Neal made with disgust. "Gross. Tim, clean that up," he ordered. Tim immediately gave Rick his plate and left to get something to clean the mess up. "What happened?" Greg demanded.

"He has an infection. He needs medical treatment, or you're only going to have one hostage, soon." Peter hated to say such harsh words, especially in front of Neal, but if that's what it took, then he was going to do it.

Greg seemed to look a little concerned about this. "What kind of medical treatment?" He asked skeptically.

"Well, a hospital would be best, but I'm sure that's not going to happen." At Greg's nod, Peter continued. "Antibiotics, clean bandages, food, water," Peter said the last two while pointing at the items in Rick and Johns' hands.

Tim came back down with a bucket and rag and started cleaning the vomit while Greg looked around Peter to look at Neal, who looked like he was trying to follow the conversation, but was struggling.

After several minutes, Greg spoke up. "Okay, here's how this is going to go down - I ask you a question and if you answer it correctly, you get one thing from your list. If you answer them incorrectly... Well, we'll get to that when we have to." A wide grin appeared on his face as he talked. This all was just some sick game to him.

After a second, Peter nodded his head. They were going to ask them questions anyway, so they might as well get something out of it.

Greg grinned as he brought his hands together and rubbed them. "Great! Okay, first question: Why are you here?"

"I already answered that," Neal said from behind Peter.

"I don't trust you!" Greg snarled. "You didn't have the right motivation, either."

"We were here to get evidence on you for the smuggling operation you guys have going," Peter said.

Greg nodded. "Okay, good. You get water. When was the last time you were in contact with the FBI?"

"Before we came to the cabin the first time," Peter answered.

"Okay, You get some food. What does the FBI have on us?"

Neal rolled his eyes at the repeated question, but no one saw him.

"Nothing that could hold up in court." But when Neal and Peter got out of there, they'd have plenty.

"I'll see what I can do about some bandages. Does anyone know where you are?"

"If they did, they would have been here by now."

"True. Well, you did good, but I can't get you any antibiotics, sorry," Greg said, not looking or sounding sorry at all.

"He's not going to last much longer if he doesn't get anything to fight the infection!" Peter said urgently.

"Fine," Greg said eventually. He did not seem happy about having to get any drugs, but seemed even more unhappy about losing a hostage. At least the man had priorities. "Tim, get some meds and bandages for our guests," Greg ordered Tim, who had finished cleaning and was standing by John.

"Uh, now?" Tim asked nervously.

"Yes, now!" Greg yelled.

"But nothing's open now," Tim said, confusion evident in his voice.

"If nothing's open, then break in!" Greg said like it was the most obvious thing to do.

"O-okay," he said and hurried up the steps.

"John, go with him to make sure he does it right," Greg sighed.

John nodded, handed Greg the plates of food and left. He didn't seem nearly as afraid of Greg as Tim was.

Greg turned back to his hostages. "Well, you earned something for all your cooperation," he said and handed each of them a plate. Rick gave them their water, as well. "Enjoy," Greg said as he and Rick left.

Peter let out a large breath and turned to Neal, who was looking at him with a small smile. "Well, that went better than I thought it would. You did a good job," Neal praised.

"You looked half dead a minute ago," Peter commented as he sat back down next to Neal and started eating. "Something change?"

"Well, I had to make it look like I needed medicine, so..." Neal trailed off and started eating as well, albeit slower, because of only having one hand to work with, and not really finding food that appealing.

"Well, you fooled me."

Neal shrugged apologetically. "Already having most of the symptoms helped."

Soon, both men finished their hard-earned meal and they both settled down to sleep, knowing that if anyone came down, both of them would hear it anyway.


	15. Bad Dreams

Hours later, Peter woke to the sound of Neal retching in the bucket that Tim had left. Peter immediately went over to Neal and rubbed his back in an attempt to calm the sick man. He could feel Neal's back muscles spasming under his hand with every heave.

Neal finally stopped and sat back against the wall with his eyes closed. "Mm, the beans were even worse... the second time," he slurred. His breath was coming in shallow gasps and he was shaking.

"Yeah, I bet," Peter said. They _were_ pretty nasty.

Neal opened his eyes and grabbed his bottle of water that they were rationing with shaky hands and took a few sips. His stomach was still rolling, so he had to drink slowly.

Peter could tell that the lights in the living room were off by the lack of light coming through the cracks in the ceiling. He couldn't hear the TV either. This was his chance to take a look at the door that kept them from freedom.

Peter stood up and was about to head to the steps when something tugging on his pant leg stopped him. Looking down, he saw that Neal was holding on to the hem of his pants and looking up at him with fear in his feverish eyes. "Peter?" Neal asked quietly, hesitantly, as if he was afraid of the answer. "Wh-where are you going?... A-are you leaving me?"

Peter knew it was the fever making Neal unsure and scared, but the look in his eyes broke his heart. And he looked so young and vulnerable with his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Peter crouched down in front of Neal and took his hand. He looked directly in his eyes when he spoke. "I'm _not_ leaving you. I'm _never_ going to leave you, but I have to check to see if we can get out of here, okay?" Peter said slowly.

Neal looked a little unsure, but nodded and released Peter's hand. "Okay. Just... Come back please," he said quietly.

"I will, I promise," Peter said and got up. Then he made his way up the steps to investigate the trap door. He lifted it slowly and as quietly as he could. It was going up and, for a second Peter thought that maybe there wasn't a lock, but then it stopped. He pushed again, but it held fast. He also tried to fit his fingers in the crack, but it wasn't big enough.

Sighing in frustration, Peter gave up and walked back down to his CI, who was watching him with wide eyes.

"You came back," Neal said in surprise.

"Of course I did. I told you that I would, didn't I?" Peter said and sat down next to his friend.

Neal nodded and put his head on Peter's shoulder. Peter could feel the heat radiating from the younger man as he pulled him closer to his chest. Neal eagerly hugged closer to Peter as the fever made him shiver and need warmth.

Eventually, Neal and Peter went back to sleep. And while Neal dreamt of stealing a Monet from a gallery in France, Peter had a very different dream.

WCWCWCWC

_"Which one do you think is weaker?" Greg asked the other three men as he looked down at Neal and Peter, akin to a loin watching their prey, just waiting to pounce. "The noble FBI agent, or his wounded partner that seems to be a compulsive liar?"_

_"I think Richards wouldn't be able to just sit and watch his partner get hurt," Rick said._

_Peter's heart sunk at those words. "No."_

_Greg nodded. "I think you're right, Rick," he said and motioned his men._

_Tim, Rick and John moved closer to the two men. Peter tried to block them, but Tim and Rick pulled him away and held him back by his wrists to watch as John pulled Neal to his feet and pulled his arms behind his back and held him by the elbows._

_Neal looked scared as hell, but he also looked like he was relieved that it was him and not Peter._

_Greg had a twinkle in his eyes as he smiled and stepped closer. The first punch hit Neal square in the jaw, causing his head to snap to the side._

_"You haven't even asked any questions!" Peter yelled._

_"Oops," Greg said and punched Neal again, this time in the stomach. Neal groaned and pinched his eyes shut._

_"You bastard!" Peter tried to pull free from the men who were holding him, but it was pointless._

_That seemed to egg Greg on as he landed blow after blow to Neal's face, chest and stomach, Each hit causing Neal to grunt or whimper. If John wasn't holding him, Neal would have collapsed by then._

_"Let him go!" Peter yelled._

_Eventually, Neal stopped making any noise and Greg stopped to see that Neal had passed out. John unceremoniously dumped him on the floor and he landed on his side._

_"Oh well, we'll continue when he wakes up," Greg said and they left._

_Neal's face had blood all over it and he was making a wheezing sound that was very concerning. Peter tried to move, but seemed to be stuck. He couldn't move at all, just watch as his friend lay there. "Neal?"_

_There was no answer._

_"Neal!" he yelled._

_Neal's eyes fluttered open and Peter could see the pain in them. "Peter?" he slurred. "Hurts."_

_"I know buddy, just hold still. You're going to be okay."_

_"Help, please... Peter," he pleaded._

_Peter couldn't move. He couldn't help his friend, and he didn't stop them from hurting him either._

_Neal's breath was getting shallower and shallower, and soon it stopped altogether._

_"No! Neal!"_


	16. Waking Nightmares

Peter woke with a start. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. The basement. Right. There was movement to his left. Neal, he was waking up as well. Peter let out a sigh of relief. Neal was okay. It was all just a dream, but Peter knew that if Neal wasn't so ill, the men holding them very well could have gotten carried away and that could have happened.

Then Peter looked around again. Well, most of it was just a dream. The worse part was, anyway.

Peter looked up to see that there was more light coming through the cracks than when they fell asleep. Either they turned the lights on again, or the sun was out. How many days did that make it that they were in this god forsaken forest? Three? Four? It had been hard to keep count.

"Thirsty?" Neal asked as he offered Peter water.

Peter looked in Neal's eyes and was relieved that they weren't bright with fever like last night. He wasn't sweating as much, either. The fever must have broken some time in the night.

"What are you looking at?" Neal asked and Peter only just noticed that he was staring at him.

"Uh, nothing. Thanks," Peter said as he took the bottle from Neal and took a few sips.

There was a sound above them and both of their heads snapped up. The front door of the cabin opened and they heard footsteps, then the door close again.

"We're back," John yelled.

More footsteps. "Good. You get the stuff?" Greg asked.

"Yeah. Do you want me to give it to them?" John asked.

"No, I'll do it," Greg said. There was more footsteps and then the hatch opened and Greg walked down. "Got your meds," he said and threw a small plastic bag at Neal.

Neal got the pill bottle out and tried to open it, but he only had one hand at his disposal. Damn child proof lids.

Peter took the bottle from him and opened it for him, then handed him one pill. Neal put it in his mouth and swallowed it down with some water. "Thanks," Neal whispered to Peter.

"Okay, you got what you wanted. Now I want answers," Greg said as he stepped closer. "What companies do you guys know about?"

"We know about your shipping company that has been a front for your smuggling operation," Peter said.

"What else?" he pressed.

"That's all we know about," Peter lied. They knew about four other companies that were connected to them and their illicit activities.

"You're lying!" Greg yelled and pulled out his gun and pointed it at Neal. "What other companies do you know about?"

Both Peter and Neal put their hands in an automatic gesture of surrender. Peter was about to say something when there was a bang and shouts above them. "FBI! Put your hands in the air!" a muffled voice yelled out.

Greg looked up when he heard something and lowered his gun a little so Peter took that chance to lunge forward and knock the gun out of his hand. It fell and was strewn across the floor. Greg recovered quickly and grabbed Peter by the shirt and punched him.

Neal saw the gun and immediately started toward it. Unfortunately, he had to use one hand to pull himself toward it, in some sort one-legged crawl, and it was slow going.

Peter pulled away from Greg and did what he wanted to do for days - punched him right in the face.

Greg stumbled back, holding his nose. Then he pulled out a knife from his pocket and took swing at Peter, but Peter put his arm up to block the attack. Peter would have been able to overpower Greg if not for the lack of food and proper rest, so Greg was able to use his strength to push the knife closer to Peter's chest. The knife was inches from plunging into his heart when a gunshot rang out. It was way too loud to be one of the other smugglers or the FBI above them.

Greg stumbled back and looked down at his chest as blood came pouring out of his chest. The knife he was holding fell to the ground, and he followed soon after.

Peter turned to his left to see Neal on the floor, gun in his right hand still pointing at Greg, ready if Greg were to get back up again and attack. His eyes were wide and refused to look away from the man he just shot.

Peter walked over to Neal and crouched down next to him. "Neal?" He said softly. Neal just continued to stare at the unmoving form on the floor. "Neal?" Peter tried again, a little louder. Neal finally snapped out of his daze and looked at Peter. "Can I have the gun?" Peter put his hand out and Neal quickly gave him the gun like it was going to bite him.

Just then, two SWAT team members came down the stairs. "Don't shoot," Peter called and held up his hands. He handed one of them the gun and looked back at Neal, who was staring at Greg again.

"He's dead," one of the men said as he felt for a pulse on Greg.

"Neal? You with me, bud?" Peter asked.

Neal looked at Peter and nodded. His eyes didn't seem to lock on Peter. "Yeah, I'm here," he said.

Peter turned to one of the men and said "I need EMS down here, right now!" Just then, Neal went limp and passed out. "Neal?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, cliffhanger!


	17. At The Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven't posted in the last couple of days! I've been busy and, honestly, I forgot. Oops. Oh well, I'm posting now!

The next few hours were a bit of a blur for Peter.

The paramedics soon came and took Neal away. Peter was also led out of the forest, into an ambulance and to the hospital. As he left, he saw that the SWAT team had Tim, Rick and John in custody. None of them looked injured, but John and Rick looked pissed off and Tim looked scared as hell.

He had wanted to go with Neal, but the paramedics had told him that he would just get in them way of helping his friend. So he relented and let them start a IV to hydrate him and give his body the nutrients that it had been lacking.

Dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion and a shiner was all that Peter had endured physically. So, after staying the night at the hospital, Peter was free to go.

Neal, on the other hand, had a much longer road ahead of him. Right now, all that the doctors were telling Peter was that he was unconscious and running a high fever. They also said that they couldn't operate on the broken wrist, that was beginning to set on its own, until the fever went down.

As soon as the doctors let her, Elizabeth was by Peter's side and hadn't left since. Peter told her some of what had happened, but didn't go into too much detail yet. He would tell her, just not yet.

WCWCWCWC 

Five hours later, Neal's doctor, Dr. Hewitt, came in and told them that Neal was still unconscious, but they could see him.

So, naturally, Peter got out of bed, against the doctors orders, and went to see Neal himself.

Elizabeth, Peter and Dr. Hewitt came up to Neal's room in the ICU, but there was a uniformed police officer sitting next to the door.

When the three of them got closer, the officer stood up. "Can I help you?" He asked.

"Why are you guarding Caffrey's room?" Peter asked.

"He is under arrest and I was told to guard him until he could be sent to the prison infirmary."

" _What!?_ On what charges?" Peter practically yelled.

"Murder," the police officer said.

"He saved my life! He can't go to jail for that!" Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was insane!

"That would have been taken into account if he wasn't already a criminal that's in custody, and has a tendency for escaping places he was supposed to be in," he said with some contempt. "He'll take the first chance he gets to get out of here, and I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen. He's going to have a trial, but until then, he's going to be in custody."

Peter was about to rip the officer a new one, but El's hand on his arm stopped him. There were more important things to do than to yell at someone. It wasn't directly his fault anyway, he was just being an ass, and that was going in his report.

"I'm going to want to talk to your supervisor," he said instead, trying to control his anger. "But first, I'm going to see my friend."

After the guard checked their IDs and made sure they didn't have anything that could harm the prisoner or aid in a jail break, they were allowed to see the sick young man.

Neal's appearance was startling to Peter, so it wasn't surprising that Elizabeth nearly burst into tears when she saw him for the first time.

Like the doctor said, his was asleep. He also looked pale and was sweating. The cut on his head by his hairline was stitched up and there was an IV in the hollow of his elbow. Wires to measure his heartbeat went down the top of his hospital gown that he no doubt would be repulsed if he knew he was wearing it. A pulse oximeter was on index of his right hand while his left was in a temporary brace. His legs were under a blanket so they couldn't see his injured leg, but his right leg was obviously bulkier from the bandages than his left.

Out of all of this, the handcuff around Neal's right wrist made Peter the angriest. A wounded, unconscious man who had saved his life only hours ago being treated like a criminal really pissed him off. Whoever was responsible for this was going to get an earful, that's for sure.

Peter and Elizabeth walked up to the bed while Dr. Hewitt stayed back to give them a minute take it all in before he started telling them about Neal's injuries.

Peter put a hand on Neal's shoulder while Elizabeth took his hand, being careful of the pulse ox and tried to ignore the handcuffs. "Oh, Neal," El said. "Peter, he looks so..." She didn't know what to say. Small? Fragile? Pale? So she just settled on, "...young."

Peter just nodded. Elizabeth was petting Neal's head and whispering reassuring words to him, but Peter didn't know what to say to him. He really didn't think that a _cowboy_ up would solve anything. Besides, Elizabeth would probably kick his butt if he said that.

After a few minutes of visiting with their friend, they turned to the doctor to hear what he had to say, holding each other's hands for the comfort they needed at the momentn.

Dr. Hewitt cleared his throat. "Mr Caffery has a very high fever and we can't operate on his wrist until it goes down. The infection from the arrow wound-" the doctor was cut-off by Peter's interruption.

"It was a bolt, not an arrow. They're shorter." Peter wasn't sure why he said that, it just seemed like it had needed to be said. It was something that Neal would say -did say- and since he couldn't say it, Peter had to.

Dr. Hewitt looked a little annoyed at being interrupted, but mostly confused as to why Peter thought that was relevant. "Right. The infection from the _bolt_ wound is causing the fever. We flushed all the bacteria we could and have him on strong antibiotics, but all of his injures took a lot out of his body, so it will take time for it to heal. The bolt only hit muscle, so it should heal properly when the infection is gone. The cut on his head should heal fine and leave no scar. As for his abdomen, he sustained some bruises, but no broken ribs or internal bleeding. He was also dehydrated and malnourished, but we are taking care of that, too. All in all, he was lucky and I'm optimistic that he'll make a full recovery."

The last words were all that Peter needed to hear; to know that Neal would make it through this. He always did, no matter what the obstacle. "Will he wake up soon?" Peter asked after a minute.

"He could, but he's on antibiotics and pain medication, so if he was to wake up, he would be really out of it. If his fever keeps going down he should wake up in a day or two."

After clarifying a few more things, the doctor left them to their vigil. Peter was going to talk to whoever was responsible for handcuffing Neal, but for now he was going to just be there for his friend.

WCWCWCWC 

Neal woke to a constant beeping that was really annoying and he wanted it to stop.

His head felt heavy, everything did, really. He also felt a little nauseous and really hot. And he felt...floaty. 'Drugs,' He thought. 'I must be drugged.'

He thought that maybe it was his alarm clock that was annoying him so he tried to move his right hand to hit the snooze, but something around his wrist stopped him.

He had been in handcuffs enough times to know exactly what they felt like. The cold metal that bit into his skin whenever he moved, the restriction that made him a little claustrophobic, the knowledge of them that made him feel nervous that he was going to jail.

But the first question that popped into his head was 'did I do something?'

He didn't remember doing anything illegal, recently, that would land him in a pair of handcuffs and apparently drugged. Did they drug prisoners now? He didn't think so, but why was he handcuffed and drugged? Has he been kidnapped? No, that happened already, then they were rescued. But what happened before that?

The last thing he remembered was... Peter and Greg fighting.

Was Peter okay? Where was he? His mind was trying to come up with the answers, but there was a blank space.

Wait...the gun. Oh god; he shot someone. Greg was dead. Neal had killed him.

But Peter was ok and that's what mattered. He remembered that much now.

"Neal?" A deep voice to his right brought him out of his thoughts. _Peter?_

"Peter?" He slurred. His voice sounded strange, like it wasn't his. He tried his best to open his eyes, but they were as heavy as the rest of him.

"Neal, can you open your eyes?"

If Peter was asking him, then it must be important. Finally he managed to open them and look to where the voice was coming from.

Peter. Peter was here. Everything was ok now. Peter always made it okay.

He wasn't wearing what he was wearing last time he saw the agent, and he wasn't wearing one of his terrible Brooks Brothers suits either. He was wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt. He looked tired and...mad? Who was he mad at? Was he mad at Neal for getting arrested?

"Are...are you mad at me?" Neal asked quietly.

Peter looked confused now. "What? No. I'm not mad at you. Why would you think that?"

Neal lifted his handcuffed hand. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything. Just rest and I'll sort that out, okay?" Peter said in a soothing voice that Neal didn't think he had ever heard come from the agent.

Neal just nodded and let the drugs claim him. Peter was ok and that's what mattered. And if Peter was here, then he was safe, too. Peter was going to work it all out and he would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me smile!


	18. On The Road To Recovery

It took seven hours, a loud conversation with the man responsible for handcuffing Neal, Warden Haskley, and a call to Hughes to convince them to put Neal in Peter's custody.

The man had hated Neal ever since he used his wife's American Express card to help get out of the prison he was in charge of all those years ago. Apparently he thought that if he had the elusive Neal Caffery back behind bars he would look good in front of his peers. The idiot.

It took all of Peter's restraint not to punch him square in the jaw.

Diana and Jones came to the hospital to drop off the tracking anklet and see how Neal was doing the first day, but had to keep up on the cases and paperwork at the office and couldn't stay long. They were also looking into who the smugglers' source was, but hadn't come up with anything; yet.

Peter was pretty sure that he saw Mozzie dressed as a Doctor the morning after he went home to rest, right before visiting hours, but the little guy scurried off before he could get a good look.

Neal had woken up a few times, but mostly just mumbled in his sleep or moved around restlessly. If Peter held his hand and talked to him, he usually settled back down and slept. And when the handcuffs came off and tracking anklet was put back on it seemed like he was in more peace. And since Peter was given some time off to recover, he spent most of his time with Neal, as did Elizabeth.

Now, thirty-six hours after they were rescued, Peter was by Neal's side, reading a three-month old magazine about celebrities and their dysfunctional lives, when the beeping from one of the machines hooked up to Neal picked up speed. That seemed to always happen whenever Neal woke up, so Peter stood up and took his partner's hand.

"Neal, you with me?" Peter asked.

Neal's face pinched in pain and he let out a groan.

"You're ok, Bud," Peter said and squeezed Neal's hand.

Neal squeezed back. "Peter?" He asked.

"I'm right here, Neal."

Neal finally opened his eyes and looked at Peter. His eyes looked a lot more focused than they did last time he was awake.

"What...?" Neal croaked.

"Here let me get you some water," Peter said and grabbed a cup from the table next to the bed. He then put a straw in it and handed it to Neal, "Drink slowly."

Neal took the cup and drank greedily and the water was gone in seconds.

Peter shook his head. "You can't do anything you're told, can you?" Peter asked, exasperated.

Neal shook his head. "Nope," he simply said, smiling like he won some sort of argument. He handed the cup back to Peter and tried to sit up more, but he canceled that movement when his injured leg reared its painful head. Neal pinched his eyes shut and grabbed his leg above the wound.

Peter wanted to do something, but didn't know what. So he settled on putting his hand on Neal's arm in an attempt to comfort him.

"Ow," Neal said after a minute and opened his eyes. He shifted his attention over to Peter and looked him up and down, like he was assessing him.

"What?" Peter asked, uncomfortable from Neal's intense gaze.

"You're ok," Neal said and Peter didn't know if it was a question or statement.

"Yes, I am," Peter said. Neal on the other hand...

"What happened?" Neal asked, apparently satisfied with Peter's answer.

"You don't remember?"

Neal's eyes glazed over a little as he searched his memory.

Peter could see the exact moment Neal remembered shooting Greg. His eyes widened and flicked to Peter then away, as if he was ashamed of what he did.

"You saved my life," Peter stated. "That's not something to be ashamed of."

Neal didn't look back at Peter, nor speak for several minutes. "Is he dead?" He asked quietly.

Peter nodded. "Yes, he's dead. But he would have killed me, then you, if you didn't do anything," Peter reasoned.

Neal nodded then sucked in a shaky breath. There was a tense silence for a minute until Neal spoke up. "How long was I out?" He asked.

Peter understood the need to change the subject, so he played along. "About a day and a half. The doctor should come around soon and tell you the details, but you should make a full recovery and be annoying me with your hat in no time."

"Always with the hat, Peter." Neal said. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Peter joked.

"I think you're jealous. You would love a hat like mine," Neal said with a smile on his face.

Peter shook his head in exasperation. "That's the most ridiculous thing you have ever said. You always look like a cartoon character when you wear it-"

"-A ridiculously handsome cartoon character," Neal cut in.

"Why would I want to look like a cartoon character?" Peter finished.

"You're right. You wouldn't be able to pull it off," Neal said.

Peter just shook his head. This he could do. He could banter with his friend and pretend that the last few days never happened. He just hoped that was the right thing to do.

WCWCWCWC 

The next day Neal's fever was gone and they took him to surgery for his wrist. After the surgery, the doctor said that there were no complications and he should make a full recovery after some physical therapy.

After Neal woke back up from the Anastasia he remembered something. "Did I have handcuffs on at some point?" He asked Peter.

Peter hesitated. He knew he had to talk about this, but really had wanted to avoid it as long as he could. However, now was probably as good as ever. "Yes. They wanted to put you back in jail until the trial, but I couldn't allow that."

Neal smiled at that. Good ol'e Peter, always keeping him out of jail. Well, most of the time.

"So, I'm not going to jail then?" Neal asked. He had to make sure he heard right.

"Not if I can help it, no," Peter replied.

Neal knew that Peter would do all he could to make things right, but what if the judge doesn't believe that he, a criminal, didn't kill his kidnapper just for revenge and not to save a friend? A judge would believe a FBI agents word when Peter told them otherwise, right? But what if that's not good enough? You can't be thrown in prison for manslaughter, right?

WCWCWCWC 

Neal and Peter were men, and men didn't talk about their feelings, so in the next three days that he spent at the hospital, Neal didn't bring anything like that up, and Peter distracted him whenever he got lost in his own thoughts.

Whenever the conversations stopped Neal would have that faraway look that he had after Kate died. Peter knew he was going back to that moment when he pulled the trigger and took a human life.

Peter wasn't there much for the first two months after Kate died so he didn't see all of the aftermath, but he suspected it looked a lot like what was happening to the young man now. He had nightmares and woke up screaming Peter's name. Peter always calmed him down and reassured him that they were both safe now.

Peter would ask if he wanted to talk about them, but Neal would just close off and turn away from Peter and pretend to sleep while he silently cried as the images of the dream would plague his mind and seem all too real. And while reality was much better, it was also still hard to face.

Neal also had the shakes again, but he hid his hands under the blanket whenever they started, but Peter still saw.

A few times, when Peter would come back into the room after a bathroom break or for some food, Neal would hastily wipe the tears that were on his face and pretend that he wasn't just crying. Peter just played along and talked about anything other than what he saw.

Peter also noticed that he was not eating very much of the food the hospital had given him. Although, Peter suspected that he wouldn't have eaten much of that tasteless food if he was in Neal's position either.

Five days after arriving, Neal was allowed to leave the hospital and go home to June's. Peter hoped that the familiar surroundings would help with what his CI was going through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! 
> 
> Reviews make me smile!


	19. Elizabeth Is Always Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Thank you for all the people staying with me through this! And thank you to all the newcomers for reading my story!
> 
> I would like to give one more thank you to ItzAGoodThing for betaing my story. Thank you ItzAGoodThing!

Elizabeth wanted to bring Neal home with them, but Neal looked pleadingly at Peter to let him go to his own house, and Peter caved. He just couldn't say no to the kid when he looked so pitiful, limping to the car with one of Byron's canes that June had brought him.

Elizabeth didn't like the idea of Neal being alone, but Peter told her that's what he wanted and, hopefully, needed.

That only lasted two days.

Peter and El were sitting on the couch in their living room watching the game and Elizabeth knew better than to try to talk to Peter before a commercial came on. So, she patiently waited until then to speak up.

"Honey, I think you should talk to Neal," she said. She tried not to interfere with Peter's plan of pretending everything was ok, but she knew it had gone on for too long.

Peter muted the TV and turned to his wife. "I don't think he wants to talk about it, hon," he said, but knew that Neal wasn't doing ok.

"He may not want to, but I think he needs to."

Peter sighed. "I know. I'm just not good at this 'feelings' thing. You know that."

"You're better than you think, Peter Burke," she said and poked his nose with her finger. "Now get going. I'm not going to wait up all night."

"Now?" Peter asked. It was 7:21 at night.

"No time like the present," she said.

Peter sighed and got up. It was always easier to just listen to El than go against her and sleep on couch.

Peter knocked on the front door to June's mansion at 7:46 pm. June herself let Peter in.

"Peter, it's good to see you. Are you here to talk to Neal?" She asked as they walked to the stairs.

"Yeah... Uh, how's he doing? Have you seen him much since he's come home?"

June frowned. "I haven't seen him much and the maid that brings Neal his food said that he's barely eaten any of it." She paused for a moment before continuing. "I think it would be a very good idea if you talked to him." She had been quite worried about him, but she knew that Neal wanted space. So she didn't to push him to see her.

They made it to Neal's apartment door and then she left him to it.

Peter knocked on the door and waited for an answer. He heard some shuffling and the door opened revealing a tired looking Neal clad in a white t-shirt and pajama pants. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under his eyes to suggest sleepless nights. The door he was holding onto looked like it was the only thing holding him up. It also looked like he had lost some weight.

"Peter," Neal said, surprised but happy to see the agent. "Come on in." Neal moved aside and Peter walked into the apartment.

As Neal closed the door, Peter could see his hands were shaking a little, but Neal quickly put them into his pockets.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Neal asked as he limped over to the table, but didn't sit.

"Oh, you know..." Peter answered vaguely. "Why aren't you using your cane?" Peter asked and gestured to his injured leg.

"I don't do much walking around my apartment," Neal replied.

Peter nodded and looked around. The bed was unmade, but Neal didn't look like he had bed head. Though Peter doubted that Neal could have bed head. He probably just wakes up and his hair is perfect.

"Find any clues?" Neal asked in a mostly amused voice.

"Was there a crime?" Peter countered.

Neal gave him a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders.

Peter continued his search. There was a half empty bottle of wine on the table, but no medication.

"Where are your meds?" Peter asked. "You're not taking them and drinking alcohol, are you?" Peter didn't think that Neal was that stupid, but had to ask.

"No. I don't need them," Neal said, but the lines of pain on his face would suggest otherwise.

"Where are they then?"

"I sold them on the corner a few blocks away. Gotta make a living some how. My boss doesn't even pay me," Neal said and paused to savor the look on Peter's face. "I'm kidding. They're in my medicine cabinet," he said and waved his injured hand towards the bathroom.

"That wasn't funny," Peter scolded.

"Come on, Peter. Did you really believe me?"

Peter shook his head. "No."

Peter took another look at his consultant. He was leaning heavily on the table and his hand that was in a cast wasn't in his pocket anymore, but Peter couldn't see any shaking anymore.

"How you holding up then?" Peter asked, not to seriously, but serious enough for Neal to know that he could answer it with something other than the 'I'm fine's' that he'd been reciting the whole week.

Neal hesitated and Peter thought for a second that he would tell him the truth. But then he smiled and said, "I'm doing great! I am low on toothpaste, though."

Well, at least he didn't say he was 'fine'. "Well, that's unfortunate."

Neal nodded. "I'll go out and get some more tomorrow." Neal turned and sat down at the table. "You gonna tell me why you're really here?" He asked while looking at Peter.

"I was concerned about how much toothpaste you had... And you."

"Well, you got the answers to both, so..." Neal trailed off.

"I only got one truthful answer though." Peter didn't want to do this, but... "I thought you didn't lie to me."

Peter saw a hurt look flash across Neal's face. "Didn't lie to you," he answered automatically. "I... My leg hurts, but it'll heal."

"I didn't mean physically." Peter sat down across from Neal. "Are you still having nightmares?" He asked softly.

Neal didn't answer for a long time and Peter didn't think he would, but eventually he quietly confessed, "When I can sleep."

"You wanna talk about them?" Peter had some nightmares himself and it helped him to talk to Elizabeth about them.

"Not really." Neal sighed. "...But I think maybe I should."

It probably took a lot of courage to admit that. Neal was not a person that talked about his feelings. "I'm here to listen."

Neal nodded and looked down at his hands. "There not always the same... Sometimes I don't make it to the gun quick enough and Gr...Greg...kills you..." Neal swallow hard. "Other times they arrest me for his murder and I go back to jail. They lock me away for life and- and I have to be placed in solitary for my protection from the guys we've locked up." Neal paused and put his hands under the table so Peter didn't see them shake.

"You don't visit me and you're... disappointed that I let you down." A tear fell down his face and he quickly wiped it away. "I haven't had any nightmares since last night... But I haven't slept either."

He didn't sleep because he didn't want to have nightmares. Damn, he should have talked to him much sooner. Peter knew that the kid was having a bit of a hard time, but this...

"Hey, _none_ of that happened. And you're not going to jail for Greg's murder. It was self-defense. Any judge will see that." Neal finally looked up and Peter could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I should have talked to you sooner. I'm sorry."

Neal shook his head. "I wouldn't have talked to you. I _didn't_ talk to you," Neal said. "But, I'm happy I did now." Neal gave Peter a small smile. It wasn't one of his million-dollar smiles. It was one of those rare genuine smiles that lit up the room more than one of his dazzling ones ever could.

Peter smiled back. "If you need to talk to me, I'm always willing to listen," Peter told Neal.

Neal nodded. "I know." A silence came over the duo as they got lost in their own thoughts.

After a few minutes Peter spoke up. "Why don't you come and stay with me and Elizabeth? She was going to make some of those little chickens that you like. We need to get some meat back on your bones." Peter stood up gently grabbed Neal's arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Are you sure, Peter? I don't want to impose. I'm fi-" a stern finger stopped Neal mid-word.

"Don't you dare say that you're _fine_. You don't know that meaning of the word. Now go pack up. You have twenty minutes," Peter ordered. "And use your cane."

"Yes, _dad_ ," Neal said and limped over to were his cane was leaning against the wall. He picked it up and limped over to the door that led to his bathroom and walk-in closet.

A warm feeling swelled up in Peter's chest at those words. But it couldn't be because he called him dad, it was because he actually listened. That had to be it.

While Neal was in his walk-in closet, Peter went into the bathroom and grabbed Neal's pain pills, then walked back into the main room and acted like he'd been there the whole time. El would be able to coax him into taking them.

Neal came back out a few minutes later wearing a dark button-down shirt and jeans. He had a bag in his hand and gave it to Peter.

"You want me to carry this? I'm not your slave," Peter said, but took it anyway. "How did you pack so fast anyway?"

Neal smiled mischievously. "I always have a bag packed. You never know when it could come in handy."

Peter shook his head and tried not to show the smiled that was creeping onto his lips. "Like when someone invites you to stay at their house."

"Exactly!" On the way out the door Neal picked up his hat and put it on Peter's head, tilting to the side in the same manner he would if it was on his own head. He stepped back and took a look at his friend. "You know what? I was wrong. You can pull it off." Neal smiled widely at the way his hat looked on the agent and Peter couldn't help but smile back.

Everything was going to be just fine. Neal would heal physically and emotionally in time, and everything would get back to normal.

Peter wore the hat all the way home.

A week later Neal and Peter stood in front of a judge and told them exactly what happened. The judge ruled it as self-defense and no charges were brought against Neal. Later that night Neal, Peter and most of the White Collar crew went out for celebratory drinks. That was also the night Neal stopped having nightmares and his hands stopped shaking.

Tim, John and Rick were arrested and charged for their crimes. Tim gave all the information he had on their operations and got a reduced sentence at a better prison.

Jones found a link to the smugglers and a janitor that worked in the FBI building. Apparently he saw that Neal and Peter were working with the FBI and told his cousin John about them. Needless to say, the janitor was fired.

A month after Neal was proven innocent, his cast came off and he also wasn't limping anymore. A week after that, Neal could go back into the field.

Peter and Neal had a few more heart-to-hearts about everything, and soon things got back to normal at the White Collar offices.

As Peter looked from the top of the stairs down at the bullpen, he could see Neal with his hat on talking to Jones and Diana about something that made them all laugh. Neal met Peter's gaze and beckoned him over, no doubt to tell him what was so funny.

Peter walked down to his friends with a warm feeling in his heart. Everything was just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> That's it! Thank you for reading!
> 
> You're reviews made me smile! Until next time! *Waves*

**Author's Note:**

> When Neal mentions his friend it was a reference to 'What Happens In Burma' when Neal called his alliasas friends.
> 
> The next chapter should be posted tomorrow, so be ready! Reviews make me smile!


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